#this got away from me

[inkskinned]

"the curtains weren't blue on purpose. why should we care?"

my love! let me ask you this - did you eat breakfast today? this tiny moment in your life. just think about it. did you?

for some of you, the answer is yes and for some of you it is technically and for some of you it is does coffee count. some of you reached for cereal or gmo-free overnight oats or frozen waffles or 3-day-old pizza. sometimes we eat the same thing, every day, for weeks. i get tired of eggs randomly, only to go back to craving them desperately. i'm cuban; i take my coffee like my father showed me, very milky and sweet.

some of us ate in a hurry. some of us hate eating breakfast but if we don't we will get nauseous later. some of us took our meds first or took our meds after. some of us have a kitchen 5 feet wide and sometimes it's the biggest room in the house. some of us are confident there will be food in the pantry and some of us flinch and say well, the paycheck is coming. some of us turn on a podcast while we eat or we scroll our phones or write in our diaries.

some of us are choosing, specifically, not to eat breakfast. some of us are too busy. some of us are pretending we "just forgot," but we are ignoring the warning signs that everything feels too-heavy. some of us are so consumed with anxiety or grief that we can't eat. some of us can't stand up long enough to make our coffee. some of us have no table to sit down and eat.

i cannot tell you what an artist "meant" by their choices. but they did have to make a choice, conscious or otherwise, to give you information. to give you a little bit more light. each of these choices are little stars of data; connecting speckles for you to weave through, drawing a line.

you cannot use a mirror in a dark room. for some of us; we will not care that the curtains are blue, because that will just be a data point and not enough light to see by. for some of us, the blue curtains will be the same as our childhood bedroom. it will make us seasick. for some of us, blue will be the color of frostbite. it might look like a pixel up close; but from a distance, oh! the picture blooms.

i cannot tell you what will stick out for you. what will carry meaning. some of you will read the sentence "i didn't have breakfast today" and say "this means nothing." some of you will read that and say "oh, me neither." some of you will say "this means the character is probably a little grouchy." some of you will say "oh, i wonder if they're okay. why didn't they eat anything?" ... art is a mirror. i am holding hands with you, over space and time, and asking you to feel something with me.

i want you to read my work and find a blue pair of curtains. i want you to read my work and find things in it that i never imagined placing. i have no way of knowing what will resonate with you, that's true. and maybe i just was hungry while i wrote this, and thinking about the eggs in my fridge. but if you found meaning, that meaning is yours. it cannot be erased just because i didn't "intend" it. you created a different world by interpreting my work. it's collaborative! that's beautiful! that's stunning!

just! imagine looking at the night sky and saying - it's stupid to have a favorite constellation or a favorite star. they're just there.

because here's the thing - across centuries and cultures, we look up. we still find meaning in the stars. these beautiful, lovely scattered accidents. are you looking? they call. and we look back and say oh! of course we are!

[padmestrilogy]

i’m not into “who’s the most powerful jedi” “who’s the best duelist” stuff but if i was, mace windu would be my man. who the fuck defeats palpatine. in a 1v1 . every other time someone has to fight palpatine in this saga they’re like “noooo i’ll turn to dark side there must be another way 😔😔” mace just does it. he beat the shit out of that old man what the fuck

[cirrus-grey]

Sorry just thinking about how Jon starts off episode 22 by asking "Martin, are you sure about this?" and it sounds like a bit of a dickish question but then you remember he took Naomi Herne's statement two months before and he's still having nightmares about it.

And he tries to tell himself they're not real. They can't be real, it's just his subconscious mind throwing this disturbing conversation back in his face every night. But part of him knows Naomi is dreaming this too, part of him knows that they're real, part of him knows.

And he doesn't want to inflict that on Martin. He doesn't want to inflict it on himself, seeing Martin in his dreams every night. But Martin insists, so he takes his statement.

The sheer relief he must feel that night when there are no worms in his dreams. The release of tension, the realization that what happened with Naomi was just a one-off. He's still seeing her, of course, but his nightmares are blessedly Martin-free.

Sasha, he just asks if she wants to wait. He's not worried about giving her nightmares, now.

And then Melanie comes in. And he takes her statement. And when he closes his eyes that night, he finds himself in the halls of an old, crumbling hospital, watching the ghost hunter hold her camera up to the crack in a door, and peer inside.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 24: Love is the only thing we can take with us. 

@thefreakandthehair

Steve looked around his room, it would be the last time he did. He could hear his parents still arguing downstairs. He knew he didn't have a lot of time, soon he'd hear his father's footsteps coming up the stairs.

"You're no son of mine!"

Steve hadn't felt like his son in a long time anyway. When he thought of dads he thought of Hopper at his graduation or Wayne watching the game with him. He'd called Hopper, Dad, when he woke up in the hospital and saw the previously dead police chief at his bedside. No, Steve Harrington hadn't been Richard Harrington's son in a long time.

He knew he didn't have much time, but he'd been planning for this moment, the day they would find out. It was inevitable, small town, nosy neighbours. Steve kept his room impersonal for a reason, it wouldn't last forever. Kneeling quickly he grabbed his box, it was all he would need.

The clothes he actually liked wearing weren't in this closet anymore, the beemer had always been in his name. Nothing else in the house mattered but this box. The last piece of Steve in these four walls.

"Steven?"

He'd asked her to call him Steve all his life, she didn't.

"Can't you see what you're doing to your mother?"

Maria Harrington hadn't been Steve's mother in a long time. Mothers were there for their kids when they woke up from nightmares. Claudia never judged when he woke up screaming on the couch. A true mother looked after their son when he was sick in bed, soup and comfort and love. Joyce brought him soup last winter, when the flu had him stuck in bed, he didn't even call, she just knew.

"I know, I'm leaving now."

"Please, Steven, there are places we can go to fix you," she cried. Mothers don't think their kid's heart needs fixing.

"You were supposed to be a real man!" Richard yelled as he passed him down the stairs. Fathers are proud of their sons growing into protectors and carers.

"This will never be your home again!" Was the last thing Steve heard as he closed his car door and placed the small box on the passenger seat. Parents always have a home waiting for you, even when they think you're wrong.

"Steve?"

Wayne is the first one to spot him as he arrives at the trailer. It's sunday, family dinner at the rotating family table. Tonight was meant to be at the Munsons.

"Steve, honey? You ok?" Joyce is the first one to touch him, worry in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, son." Hopper is the first one to read his teary eyes like a book. They all knew where he'd been.

Claudia gingerly took the box from him, "I'll put this in your room, sweetheart, let Eddie know you're back home."

Steve could hear the kids yelling around the picnic table outside; could smell dinner cooking. Robins laughter piercing though the air and Eddie's boombox playing loudly.

"Baby?"

There he was.

"Hey, Eds, think we'll have to move up that moving date, if it's ok?"

Eddie's features softened from worry to sympathy, "Course, sunshine, although I'm still surprised Joyce and Hop didn't kidnap you months ago.

Later, when he'd given everyone hugs goodbye, some were a bit tighter than others, he sat on the bed with his box.

"You wanna unpack that alone, or want help?"

"You can look, it's not a secret, just special," Steve replied, patting the space next to him. Eddie plopped himself down beside his boyfriend, lifting the lid.

Inside was a mess of bits and pieces. Eddie reached in and took out a stack of photos. Steve at his graduation, a big smile with Hopper's arm around his shoulders, Dustin beaming beside him. Robin putting Steve in a headlock at the quarry last summer, he refuses to say he let her win. Eddie at his first show back, scars on full display. And countless other memories.

There were also little toys from the arcade and pebbles and ticket stubs and letters and a full life story of one Steve Harrington told through the love of his family.

"This was all I went back to get, all I needed. Wasn't expecting them to know about you already, but I knew they'd find out one day. Couldn't let them have this, not after they spent so long trying to take my heart from me."

"I think it's high time we clear some space around here for all this, Stevie, time to let your love be out on full display."

When Steve fell asleep that night, wrapped in the arms of a boy who went to hell from him and staring at the new photos on the wall, he truly felt home.

[dreamofbecoming]

listen i know we all love steve “completely ignorant of queer culture to the point that bisexuality is a surprise” harrington being roasted and educated in turns by robin and eddie, yadda yadda, good stuff. i read “they made a horror version of rocky?” in a fic recently and cackled. also a big fan of “he knew he was bi from the start and just never talked about it” as a trope, love it excellent well done

but what about steve who realizes after starcourt that the most important person in his life now has this thing that’s a major part of her life that he knows nothing about, and what if he fucks it up? what if he says something ignorant or rude by accident, and hurts her? what if he loses her because he didn’t know the right thing to say? what if he can’t keep her safe because he doesn’t know what to look out for? absolutely fucking not, this steve says

and listen she’d never say anything, because she can tell that he can tell how much she likes teasing him and teaching him things, so he plays dumb, and she thinks it’s very sweet. but she notices when the zines she keeps under her bed that she buys at that one secret bookshop in indy when she can sneak away on family trips start going missing, always one at a time, and replaced in a few days with another disappearing. and she finds the new ones he must have gone to buy the weekend she was at her aunt’s house hidden in the back of his closet when she goes to steal one of his sweaters. and she notices when he slips more of her queerer movie recommendations into his personal take home pile rather than the movie night stack when he thinks she’s not looking.

she doesn’t notice when he drives to indianapolis after she tries to explain to him why she can’t just ask out a cute girl, tries to impress on him the fear attached to every moment of attraction that he simply has never had to feel, but later she finds a crumpled receipt from a diner in one of his jacket pockets when she’s looking for his keys, and the address is across the street from the bar the gorgeous woman at the bookstore told her about, the one she memorized the address of but hasn’t worked up the guts to think about visiting, and she knows he must have gone looking for a place like that, must have been trying to understand, must have been scoping it out to make sure it was somewhere she could feel safe, after she told him she never had.

so when eddie nearly pops a blood vessel when they clock each other and she mentions that steve is the only person she’s ever come out to before, her hackles come up. because she gets it, she does, he’s only known king steve until recently, so it makes sense that he would be afraid, be concerned for her safety.

but steve is her person, and no one- no one- has ever made her feel as protected or as cared for as he does. no one has ever tried as hard to understand her, no one has ever put so much work into making her feel safe and seen and loved. and she thinks maybe even if no one else ever does, that’s ok. because she has steve, and more importantly steve has her, and that means no one gets to question his ally credentials in her presence without a dressing down to remember, no matter how well they mean or how recently they helped save the world.

(and maybe she’s not as surprised as she could be when he figures out bisexuality all on his own, because she’s been reading all the same pamphlets he has, after all. and she’s seen the way he looks at eddie, i mean come on. maybe no one else has noticed, but then, nobody knows steve harrington like she does.)

[pridescrolling]

I don't believe Aziraphale had a choice. I don't believe Aziraphale felt he had a choice.

He was offered one of the highest positions of power in the universe. Literally. The same universe where he has been afraid since before the beginning of losing what he loves most. Their entire existence something has been hanging over their heads whether it's heaven casting you out, hell torturing or destroying you, you destroying yourself, or the end of the world. They've always been afraid of losing one another.

Then, Michael, after Gabriel and beelzebub have left, decides that she has the power of erasing Aziraphale/Crowley from the book of life. That because she is the duty officer she's next in line for the Supreme Archangel position.

But instead it's offered to Aziraphale.

Now he sees that maybe he can save the world and change the universe so that finally, finally his beloved is safe for real. That he can finally let himself get close, let himself love crowley. That they can finally be together. Safe.

But crowley says no. Crowley doesn't want him to go and doesn't want to go with him and aziraphale doesn't get it because 'we could make a difference' isn't that what you want? He's slipping away from Aziraphale so suddenly and he's trying to hold on trying all his tricks of getting crowley on board and nothing is working and suddenly he's kissing him.

Suddenly the silent, unspoken words are screaming at him and he doesn't know where to go from here. Crowley is all he's ever wanted and it's all out on the table and he wants to stay.

But if he does Micheal might be Supreme Archangel. Or someone worse. Someone who doesn't want to make heaven better. Who won't allow he and crowley to be together. Who might push them back to how they were before. The arrangement, hidden glances, the briefest of touches, closet door shut tight.

No.

He will do this. He will prove it to himself. To heaven. To hell. To humanity and to Crowley that he will literally move heaven and earth to love him out loud.

But he has to let go of Crowley to do that.

[bleedingoptimism]

Steve only agreed to go out with Tommy after their parents set them up because he “owed” his dad for ruining a potential business partnership for him at a dinner party.

To the rest of the guests, the man had just tripped and embarrassed himself but he knew and Steve knew and Steve’s dad knew: Steve had tripped him. But the guy had groped his ass when he crossed him on his way to the bathroom. He had it coming.

And even if his father had agreed with him after Steve told him the truth, he still needed help landing another client since his most profitable opportunity turned out to be a big ol’ creep. A date with another client’s son. Young, rich, good-looking, a single dad. It didn’t sound that bad.

And so Steve met Tommy. 

At first, Tommy was… good. He was charming, cute, a praiser and a joker but the more Steve got to know the less he liked. After a while the compliments stopped and the commanding requests began. Get me this, pick this up, cook me, blow me, dress me, feed me, drive me, me, me, me.

But if Steve wanted or needed something? Tommy was sooo tired and busy. He hadn’t even made an effort to meet Steve’s friends yet. Plus he was always making Steve feel dumb and unimportant, saying his job was silly, even if Steve made almost as much money as him with fewer hours.

Telling him not to ‘worry his pretty head about it’ when Steve asked for clarifications or wouldn’t talk to him about work because Steve ‘wouldn’t get it’. He talked down on Steve all the time and offered him money to “buy himself something nice” in a degrading manner as if Steve was nothing more than arm candy for him.

The worst part was when he realized Tommy… wasn't funny. At all. All his jokes were based on making fun of other people. And he was the only one who laughed at them. He was no better than a bully. He… kind of sucked.

And Steve would’ve loved to never have to see him again. But the problem was he had fallen in love with Tommy’s daughter, Tarja. Because Tommy might have been a terrible boyfriend but at least he was a good enough father. So the weeks Tommy got Tarja, Steve spent most of his time with her. 

She was just a delight. Cute, smart, and actually funny. She had the most deadpan sarcastic humor a 6-year-old could manage and it cracked him up. She was also super creative and loved drawing, reading, bedtime tales, and coming up with stories of her own.

Her emotional maturity was impressive, better than her father’s actually, and one of Steve’s favorite things about her. He’d never forget the day he went to pick her up from school and she’d been upset. When Steve asked her how he could help she had calmly explained what had happened, how it made her feel, and what she could do about it… over ice cream, obviously. It made him wonder what kind of person her other dad was like because she had clearly not learned how to communicate like that from Tommy.

And the thing is, Steve had always wanted a kid, ever since he was young all he wanted was a family and even if Tommy wasn’t great he just couldn’t make himself leave the connection he felt with Tarja. And he couldn’t just come out to Tommy and say: ‘Hey I wanna break up, but I’d love to keep seeing your kid,’ that would land him at best a punch, at worst in jail.

There was also the fact that, no matter how much he tried to deflect, Tommy’s comments were starting to get to him. Maybe Tommy was as good as he’d get, maybe he was dumb and uninteresting and the only thing he had going for him was his looks, maybe this was his only chance for a family. So he stuck it out. Cherished the times when they were all together.

And then he met Eddie.

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[bardicious]

Jim Kirk is valid for having an on again of again complicated relationship with Carol Marcus. Spock is valid for being upset at Chapel for not committing to their relationship like he thought he could. Chapel is valid for pursuing her dreams despite her affections for Spock. Chris and Batel are valid for having a relationship that complicates their work life. Sam Kirk is valid for pursuing knowledge on the flagship enterprise despite not being able to see his family. La'an is valid to have her whirlwind romance with an alt!Kirk and have that color her impression of canon!Kirk. Uhura is valid for being an uncertain all business ensign learning to believe in herself and inspire others. M'Benga is valid for not wanting to be a bunny.

They are all valid.

[steventhusiast]

Steve's exhausted after a day at the museum with his daughter. She spent all day running away from him to get to the next exhibit, and he spent all day fondly chasing after her and wishing he'd brought the backpack leash with him. The ride back to Hawkins from the city is about an hour and a half, so he made sure to rush to get on the train first to secure them seats at a booth table. Sam having a place to put her toys down is very important for tantrum-avoiding reasons.

So sue him if he doesn't notice that there's a man sat opposite them when he finally gets to sink down into a seat on the train.

He's leaning down to find Sam's two action figures he let her bring with her, when he hears her start giggling next to him. When he sits back up, he's a little startled to see a man with long, wavy, pretty hair sat opposite them. He's making silly faces at Sam, a book held open in one hand as he puts all his energy into poking his tongue out at the 4-year-old.

In response Sam blows a raspberry at the man, and Steve holds back a laugh. God, the man is charming him without even talking to him. He's cute, and he's unafraid to be silly to make a kid smile?

"Alright, Samshine, I don't think this poor man wants your germs all over him. What do we say?" He prompts.

Sam looks chastised, and goes from giggling at the man to pouting at her dad.

"Sorry." She says to him, but Steve shakes his head gently and pointedly glances to the stranger, "Oh!" She gasps, "Sorry, Mr Stranger."

The stranger just chuckles and shakes his head.

"No worries at all, milady. But please call me Eddie, Mr Stranger is my father."

Steve was not expecting that reply at all, and he can't help but let out an audible laugh. Eddie's brand of charming is a little weird, but Steve likes it. Sam, on the other hand, is frowning at Eddie in confusion.

"Okay, you have to call me Sam though! Wait- Your last name is Stranger?"

She asks, and sounds so excited about the possibility that Steve ruffles her hair.

"Unfortunately not. I was just trying to make your poor dad laugh, he looks very tired. You had him running around all day?"

The question is all it takes for Sam to launch into a play-by-play of her entire day, and Steve feels like he should apologise for her behaviour, but Eddie genuinely looks like he's having a good time talking to her.

"I'm sorry if you were planning on reading, I think Sam's thinking you're her new best friend." Steve chuckles after a bit, partially because he also wants to talk to this pretty stranger and partially because he knows how overwhelming a 4-year-old talking at you can be, but Eddie just redirects his bright smile to Steve.

"No, no. This kid's a better storyteller than any author. But, if I'm gonna talk with her any longer I feel like I should know your name too?"

"Steve. Steve Harrington." Steve introduces, and smiles at the man, whose eyes go a little wider at his name.

"Holy shi-shrimp. Holy shrimp. Harrington?" Eddie squints at him for a few seconds, and then nods and leans back, "Wow, it really is you."

"Sorry, do I know you?" Steve feels a little awkward, mentally running through where he could know Eddie from. He supposes he looks a bit familiar, but not enough for him to comment on it.

"Daddy stop talking to Eddie he's s'posed to play superheroes with me!" Sam interrupts them, and shoves one of her action figures across the table toward Eddie.

"One second, Lady Sam. Your daddy went to high school with me and doesn't even remember! This is blasphemous!" Eddie says before Steve gets the chance to say anything, dramatically clutching at his chest like he's in pain as he goes.

At those words Steve pauses a little. High school?

It's his turn to squint at Eddie for a second, and he suddenly remembers the renowned drug dealer turned super senior. Eddie Something. Steve never really talked to him, mostly because he was repressing his queerness and Eddie was hot and open about his freak status and that scared him. He racks his brain for Eddie's last name. It begins with an M for sure. Munson!

Wait. Drug dealer. Talking to his kid. He better not be doing that anymore. He distantly wonders if there's any product in Eddie's backpack that sits on the seat beside him.

Eddie seems to know the moment Steve's connected the dots because Steve goes from squinting in confusion to squinting in suspicion.

"You don't even need to ask. No, I no longer..." Eddie pauses to look at Sam, "I no longer am an entrepreneur. Or- Well. I am, but I'm a tattoo artist."

"Okay. Good. And before you ask I'm no longer a..." He holds both hands over Sam's ears and only mouths the next part, "douchebag."

Eddie laughs and nods.

"I see that. Can't believe I didn't recognise you with the glasses." Eddie says.

"Daddy." Sam whines, and dramatically shakes her action figure, "I wanna play."

"Alright, alright. Sorry, Eddie, we'll have to catch up at the high school reunion." Steve jokes, and Eddie pulls a face.

"Ugh, as if I'm stepping foot in Hawkins High ever again. You'll have to give me your number if you wanna catch up." Eddie says with a wink.

Steve blushes and looks down, and Eddie's words seem to catch up to him. Steve distantly wonders what the hell Eddie’s doing going back to Hawkins. It doesn’t sound like he still lives there, and Steve hasn’t seen him around.

"Unless, of course, there is a Mrs Harrington. In which case, I am so sorry and will play superheroes with your kid the entire rest of this train ride." He rushes out, looking a little embarrassed.

Sam giggles at the words.

"Daddy's not married, silly!" She laughs a little more after that, finding everything hilarious, "Now can we play?"

Eddie lets out a relieved breath, and glances at Steve again with a little smile, before putting all his attention on Sam and picking up the action figure she wants him to play with.

"Of course, Lady Sam. Only if I get to be the villain."

Steve reaches into his pocket for the tiny notebook he keeps there, and scrawls out his number before he can think too much about it. Robin’s always telling him he needs to put himself out there more. And Eddie already knows about Sam, which is half the battle for Steve when it comes to dating. Plus, it doesn’t hurt that Eddie’s just as attractive and charismatic 8 years out of high school.

Sam only looks a little peeved when he interrupts the intense superhero-villain fight she's having with Eddie to slide his number across the table.

[scarriestmarlowe]

thinking about…the trans nick headcanon…and jodies insistance that his son is NICHOLAS.

your child comes to you one day, your sweet baby, looks you in the face and says “daddy, i’m a boy.” he says it with such resolute definition that you can’t help but accept it immediately, ignoring the millisecond of hesitation. it made sense, he’d been so squirrely around skirts ever since morgan’s mom had mentioned how “ladylike” they made him look.

so, you bring him with you to your barber, you pick up some polos and khakis, you make sure he’s happy with it all. some family members, who you rapidly distance yourselves from, attempt to co-opt the name your son had called a family meeting to choose. “nicky!” is always swiftly answered by “nicholas.”

when he gets to middle school you worry— even aside from the whole trans thing, he takes after you and your strict sense of justice. you’re so proud of him, but you know he can be a bit overzealous in it. but he makes friends, joins the soccer team. he’s confident, and happy, and his friends tease him and razz him like they would any other tweenage boy.

“narcholas.” they call him. “nicholas.” you nearly correct, before you see the little smile he gets when they seamlessly include him in everything, even with the lighthearted teasing around his name.

(they didn’t even know, you come to find out. nicholas doesn’t bother to keep it a secret, but they see the oak-garcia boys at a local pride celebration, and they refer to your son as an ‘ally,’ he nearly laughs himself into an asthma attack.)

there’s a moody boy with beads in his hair, and he calls your son nick. you correct him the first time, but nicholas flushes when you do. then, the moody boy keeps coming around your house, and he calls your son a whole slew of nicknames.

narcholas, nick, narc, and of all things, you’re sure you heard him call your son ‘cole’ once. a particular favorite of yours being ‘nicholad’

life is good, in short.

then you get sucked through a portal, and you fight alongside fathers who had merely been on the sidelines with you beforehand, but were now your brothers in battle.

and glenn. fucking glenn.

after his trial, the other fathers get weird. they adopt the name your son’s friends had been calling him, but there’s none of the love. it’s exactly what you feared, when you sent your son to middle school, and he is receiving it from grown men.

you are ashamed of the men you believed to be your friends. you are ashamed of your judgement. worsemore, it’s not even from some kind of sudden transphobia. he knows for a fact both glenn and henry are trans men. quite genuinely, they just don’t like his son.

then it gets worse. and worse.

but in the end, you still have your nicholas, nick, whatever he wants to be.

[inkskinned]

one of the things that's so frustrating is how often the arguments against us are actually happening to us. we said - you need to watch out, this will evolve into allowing fascism into legal statute. and we were told: you're a sensitive snowflake. you're annoying and stupid and have no concept of reality. nobody really believes that stuff.

but it's indoctrination for kids to even see queer people. it's grooming for kids to even be around queer people. it's disgusting to even put rainbows on kids clothes. it's inappropriate, shameful, still-an-argument. like any of this is new - we know already. for you, even seeing someone unashamed is the same thing as "forcing" it onto you. because god-forbid you confront any internal thought you have. because god-forbid you practice empathy. rage is better, i guess. it keeps you pretty.

this has always been the way of some people - a while ago, it would have been "sinful" for my white mom to marry my hispanic dad. once, in the year of our lord 2015, someone told me that "mutts" deserve a woodchipper. that one particular insult stayed with me - not because it was the first or last, but because there was something so unbelievably violent about it that i couldn't figure out how to hold it. the idea that someone is so assured of their bigotry and rage that they would paint this kind of a picture. even jokingly, even with the anonymity of the internet, it kind of centered things for me. a sense that, for some people, their rage burned so unimaginably large that it blocked even the basic fact of my humanity.

at one point, while i still had enough fire in me to get into long arguments, one of the bigots i was "debating" (being harassed by) said: to be honest, it's about the sex, not the love. between you, me, and the four walls of this blue hellsite, i actually didn't really care for "love is love" as the slogan of our community. it seemed so placid, so gentle, so ally-focused. where was the vitriol? where was the hours i spent agonizing over myself? where was the quiet moments of my life, filled with the sound of other people's hatred? this static that settles over everything; even for the action of holding her hand.

the world is unfair. i am an adult, and without the veneer and small-pond syndrome of my teenage years, the slogan has started sounding more desperate. the more places i went, the more people i met. love is love. love is defending him on a rooftop bar. the drink she throws at me goes down into my shoes while i stand there, wishing i had a better retort than what the fuck. love is both of us, keeping our heads down, the black SUV full of frat boys (?) pulled up next to us, howling, for five whole blocks, until we both gave up and had to stick our bare legs into the thicket by the side of the road, giving over into tick country rather than let it go on any longer. love is a lazy spring afternoon, my hand on her belly, the fan spinning overhead. did you hear the whole thing about target?

did you hear about being the target? that's a fun little parallel, isn't it. it almost feels like the game that-is-about-me is being played without-my-participation. someone wants to set fire to my life, and i have to wait for a response from a capitalist institution. i am watching a tiktok where a white woman under white lights complains about adult swimsuits, even though i think a lot of people would benefit from having swimming options that are not "instagram-inspired bikini" or "impossible to move in but otherwise pretty".

sometimes it just seems so fucking stupid. like, just to check, the rage you feel and the hatred - you could really just avoid all of that by minding your fucking business. sometimes (and this is true): it's not about you, and people don't need your permission. like, i don't understand any obsession with sports, but it seems to make other people happy. american football literally results in grievous bodily injury - and yet there are onesies for babies that say future quarterback. i personally don't love it, so i just don't buy that stuff. i walk by it, and don't let it bother me. there have been so, so, so many times that i was told - "so what if he's a little bit homophobic, if you don't like him, don't watch his movies." "so what if they fired her. don't buy their product." "so what if they wouldn't make a rainbow cake. just don't support them."

sometimes i feel the meaning of it scud against my body, an orca whale inside of me, threatening the boat. it is too large to see from my place; this shadow of a thing that dwarfs my petty other-concerns. i need to find a dress for an event, and florida is passing more anti-gay legislation. i need to text my friend back and confirm our plans, and someone is throwing beer bottles to the floor in a walmart because a different case had rainbows on them. it is a long fall, if i look down into it; this sense like the bottom doesn't exist. like i have only ever dipped my toes in.

sometimes i am unbelievably tired of talking about it. it feels like it has become too trite in my own poetry - queer writer complains about the state of the world! how original! - and then something else happens, and i am here again. i remember that it isn't a moment. i remember it isn't a scattered population of cartoon evil-doers, intent on world domination from behind handlebar mustaches. it is a concerted effort of real people with real power who really-do want to see my end. it is a lifetime of dodging the beercan as it sails out of the back of the van. it is a lifetime of not-kissing once we leave the apartment. it is a lifetime of watching someone protest our existence and then, very slowly, giving them the finger. it is a lifetime of holding my friends' hands and hearing the same agony in their life that i lived through. it is us, together, our faces turned upwards, the night sky so vast, milky way overhead like a lacework zipper.

it is a lifetime of staring down woodchippers.

[a-hobit]

There are not nearly enough “Izuku midoriya in denial” fics for me.

Katsuki has accepted and is trying to confess but Izuku won’t let him or constantly forces himself to only see what Katsuki says in a platonic way. Eventually Izuku is stressed and cornered. Katsuki tries confessing but Izuku childishly slams his palms over his ears — eyes squeezed shut. Katsuki is devastated and feels like Izuku must be burdened by his feelings so he just…stops trying to talk and his own eyes go cloudy while he fights back tears. Izuku can’t hear or see but somehow feels the air change around him.

He opens his eyes. He sees the person he cares most about with a hand clutched over his breaking heart and the other trying to wipe away the tears falling down his face — twisted into an expression so broken it’s something that Izuku can no longer ignore.

His own hands drop from his face to settle on quivering shoulders while he panics internally. He can feel blackwhip on the edges of his fingertips in a painful bid to be free of his iron will grasp on his own heart. It’s unceremoniously shoved back into that tight spot between his ribs that seems to ache with every uncontrolled hitch or sob in Katsuki’s breath while he tries desperately to understand what’s happened and how he can fix it unscathed.

Asking what’s wrong doesn’t seem to help and Katsuki only shakes harder and diggs deeper into his chest. His hands grow tight on the taller boys shoulders as Katsuki is able to scrape out the barest hint of his overwhelming feelings.

“Why won’t you let me? Are you angry with me now — disgusted? You let round face confess and gave her every bit of the kindness and compassion I know you have while rejecting her…don’t I deserve that too? The be able to speak and be spoken to? To love freely and hear an honest answer?”

“Will you not even look me in the eye so I can tell you the truth? That I love you?”

The thin thread of steel control that Izuku has been grasping to from that very first time he allowed himself to see, and love, and care, fully for the man in front of him snaps. Controlling that feeling has been the only way to keep blackwhip strangled and weak but the acknowledgment is paramount to the heavy door put on it with lock and key slamming open without mercy or thought.

Izuku suddenly let’s go of his companions shoulders to grasp desperately at his thin shirt — now covered in a foreboding inky blackness that seems intent on grasping something. Katsuki only has a moment of warning before he’s violently tugged straight to Izuku — their torsos knocking the air out of both of them in a rush. They’re both covered in strings of agitated looking tendrils that seem to tighten around them with every breath or unapproved move away from the other.

Izuku can feel the humiliation creep up his throat while his nose knocks into another. All he can see is twin red eyes that read to him as shocked. The blood finally reaches his face as he thrashes against the tight renforced hold that black whip — his own damn quirk!— has got them in. Quickly he ducks his head down and pulls at their restraint. He’s embarrassed and can’t choke out an apology fast enough.

“No!! I’m so sorry! I - I can’t make it stop — I don’t want you to hate me and I can’t even get control of my own quirk! God Kacchan please — !”

The tears are cold on his burning cheeks but there’s a soft hand to delicately wipe them away and gently pull Izuku’s face back into view. The other rests sweetly on his chest while Katsuki wears a unreadable look on his face. Their noses are close again and they can feel the breath the both let out unevenly.

Izuku’s eyes are wide and searching while Katsuki slides his hands over Izuku’s shoulders to clasp together around his neck. Katsuki’s head drops down in a thud against his collar bone while his own hands find themselves desperately grasping at his oldest friend’s school uniform. Not really caring about the creases he’s making his eyes squeeze out another tear or two before his head hits Katsuki’s collarbone in a mirror image.

They both take a moment to steady their breathing and hold each other like they’ve never been able to before.

Once they’ve both had their fill their heads pull up so they can meet eyes once more. Izuku feels a shutter come up his back as he croaks out a few words heavy with months of held back feeling.

“…you love me?”

Katsuki eyelids flutter and then pin Izuku with a fierce and determined expression.

“Yes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you before you run away or make some lame excuse or fucking — put your hands over your ears?! Like a little kid?!”

He huffs petulantly and ironically child like in his own way. Izuku’s finally able to whisper out—

“…why?”

His eyes shoot wide as they take over Izuku’s face. He’s so lost for words he almost doesn’t hear the next confession.

“You — you don’t know me at all. You don’t know how selfish I am Kacchan…you haven’t seen me without you. I…I wanted Shigaraki dead when I saw what happened…it’s too much — and black whip! Just now didn’t even listen to me at all and just — took what I wanted! I don’t want you to be chained to someone so…so not worth your time Kacchan. You don’t deserve to be chained to my mistakes…my selfishness for you.”

“You don’t need such a burden to drag you down.”

Katsuki could only stare in disbelief that someone so forgiving, so loving, so kind could treat themselves so horrifically — could talk like that about themselves. It made his stomach turn watching Izuku fold more into himself with every nasty declaration of his own worthlessness. It fills him with so much anger he can’t help the venom in his voice when he replies.

“Who the hell do you think you are telling me what I can or can’t love?! It’s not your decision to make whether or not you’re a burden to me. As if I couldn’t handle you!”

[hungharrington]

What do you think Steve's favorite part of your body is? Ass? Boobs? Thighs? Lips? or something else?

you’re delirious if you think he has just one favorite babycakes ! at any given moment, you could ask him and he’d probably still manage to surprise you.

sometimes steve’s predictable — wear that low cut top? your boobs are the thing he can’t get enough of. he’s eying them, sneaking a squeeze, dropping a hickey when he can so everyone knows that those beautiful boobs are taken. a tight skirt? you can be pretty sure he’s drooling over your ass, especially with how he insists you walk before him and how he just happens to have his hand in your back pocket the whole night.

but! but he still surprises you!

you wear a new dress that he’s never seen before and steve can’t keep his hands off you, can’t stop pawing at your sides, can’t stop kissing up your neck even though you’re definitely going to be late for you date and when his hands smooth down your sides, he groans appreciatively and rolls his head back, “god, you look gorgeous. i honestly don’t think i can let you leave like this— i think i’m too obsessed with how fucking good you look in this dress.”

then he sinks to knees, his hands creeping around your waist to hold you as he kisses, slow and languid kisses atop your tummy. and you laugh, a little in surprise, a little in disbelief because he’s kissing your tummy.

“i would’ve thought you’d love the ass…” you comment quietly. you make a move to swivel around but steve’s hands don’t let you, his brown eyes peering up at you sincerely as he says, “are you kidding me? i mean, it’s great as always—“ he gives it a little pat, still grinning up at you endearingly. “but this—” he runs his hand down your sternum, trailing across the plains of your stomach. “and these.” his hands trails down to your hips, giving them a firm loving squeeze. “and christ, don’t get me started on these.” his huge hands wrap around the skin of your thighs and you have to fight the inbuilt instinct of parting your legs whenever steve gets his hands on them.

steve kisses the exposed skin, his nose nuzzling in, stealing the scent of the perfume along your inner thighs before he raises himself off his knees. his hands tuck under your jaw, cradling it as he kisses you once, quick, before mumbling against your lips, “fuck, honey, i’m— it’s adorable that you think i could focus on anything else.”

[ailelie]

I want a Leverage/Stargate crossover in which Parker, Hardison, Eliot, and Sophie all know about Stargate and all think they are the only ones who know.

Eliot is easy. He worked for them. He's been off world and has seen aliens up close. He doesn't want that danger anywhere near his team and, if they knew aliens were real, they would seek them out.

Parker, pre-Leverage, was once going to steal from a goa'uld. She's hidden away and safe, but sees the goa'uld change hosts or similar. It is one of the few times she walked away without her score. She still stole something, just not what she had gone for. She also neatly accepted that mind controlling snake monsters are real and that made her much more accepting of the impossible and, weirdly, less afraid in general. Nothing beats a mind controlling snake monster.

Hardison hacked his way into the mountain base while setting up in Portland. He didn't go in deep; he was just looking for something cute and Santa related for Parker. Instead, he found a mission report some idiot had sent in via email. The report had video. Brutal video. He watched. Three times. And then bought himself a new computer solely to hack deeper and figure out if what he saw was real or fake. It was real. He was thrilled--space ships and aliens were real! He was terrified--space ships and aliens were real and not very friendly. He wanted no part of that.

Sophie conned her way into a dinner with military officials. It wasn't even for a job. She was just bored and wanted to test out her skills. (Part of her also wanted to get caught. Part of her post-Nate was a bit self-destructive). She found a man fuming and lent a listening ear. With a bit of alcohol and a lot of pretending to know more than he did, she learned about the Stargate program. She locked that knowledge up deep, ready to wield it if ever needed.

And then, one day in New Orleans, SGC comes knocking for Eliot. It is one of the times that Hardison is home with them. Eliot is cooking and Hardison and Parker are teasing him in the kitchen. Harry is out. Breanna is working to undo a virus Hardison created for her as a challenge.

Then, say, Cameron Mitchell walks in. Eliot glances over from where he's cooking at the stove and says, "No. Turn around. Walk away."

Hardison has gone still. He remembers Cameron's face from the reports he read and watched. "How do you know Eliot?" he asks.

"We used to work together."

Hardison turns to Eliot, eyes wide. "Eliot?"

"Better question," Eliot says, turning off the heat. "How do you know Mitchell here?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on what the government is doing," Hardison vamps, part of him still hoping to end this conversation without Parker learning about the spaceships and aliens.

"Dammit Hardison."

By this time, Parker has hopped off the counter and walked up to Cameron to get a better read on him. She also nicks his wallet and firearm. "Catch," she calls to Eliot as she tosses the firearm to him.

"Parker!" Eliot chastises as he snatches the gun. "Don't throw firearms."

She shrugs. "I knew you'd catch it."

This is the first time Cameron has looked wrongfooted this entire time. "What?"

"Cameron Mitchell," Parker reads from his ID. "Airforce."

Cameron swipes it back from her. Parker lets him. As she turns, she catches Breanna's eye and gestures to her ear.

Breanna pulls out of the code she was working on and starts looking for any foreign frequencies to find out who is talking to Mitchell.

Sophie, who has been watching quietly this entire time and noting Cameron's military standing, takes into account his actual division and the ways Eliot and Hardison are acting and clearly talking around something. She decides to make a gamble.

"Does this have anything to do with the Stargate program?"

Eliot, Hardison, and Cameron all freeze and look at her.

"I'm sorry, ma'am," Cameron says, "But how do you know about the Stargate program."

Sophie offers him a beatific smile. "People do talk--" she pauses and gives him a searching look "--commander is it? Interesting that the commander himself came to talk." She turns to Eliot. "This might be important."

Cameron spins to Eliot. "Did you tell her?"

Eliot crosses his arms. "I've not said anything."

Parker raises her hand. "What's the Stargate Program?

Hardison is the first to speak up. "It is a secret program that deals with threats from space."

"Like aliens?" Breanna asks, continuing to hack into Cameron's comms. She's surprised by the layers of protection.

"Yes."

"Okay," Breanna mutters. "Cool. So aliens are real."

Parker raises her hand again.

"You don't need to raise your hand, Parker," Eliot mutters into his hand.

"Are any of these aliens mind controlling snake monsters who like Egyptian antiquities?"

Now every eye is on her.

"Yes," Cameron says, stretching the word out. "How?"

Parker just hops back up onto the counter. "I stole from one."

"Did she just say she stole from one?" A woman's voice plays from Breanna's corner.

"So I've hacked their comms," Breanna says.

Cameron nearly growls in frustration. This was not how this was supposed to go.

"Why don't you invite the rest of your team in?" Sophie says. "Eliot, will we have enough food?"

Eliot rolls his eyes and turns back to the stove. He turns the heat back on and gives his dish a stir. "I was making enough for leftovers. We'll be fine."

"Who are you people?" Cameron asks. "I mean, I've read your files, but--"

"Oh, how did you like those?" Hardison asks. "Beauties, aren't they?"

"You forged your records?" Cameron asks, his tone flat.

Sophie touches his elbow and guides him to a seat. "When you've taken over a small country, darling, paperwork is child's play."

Cameron looks at her, sees she isn't lying, and laughs. "Okay. Fine." He calls his team in. They'll have dinner. And then they'll discuss saving the world.

[simmyfrobby]

[momentofch-aos]

M's Marvel Thought of the Day

Daniel Sousa, now settled in the 21st century, looks up what happened to his friends from his own timeline.

Daisy had already gently broken the news about Peggy's death to him. They visited her grave site and talked about the adventures and missions the two had been on.

He read the case file on Howard and Maria Stark's death, the Winter Solider case and knowledge of who he was sending him for a loop. He'd met Sergeant Barnes once, that day when he thought he would die on the battle field. He had never been Howard's biggest fan but no one deserved that.

He read the obituaries of Ana and Edwin Jarvis, found they were buried in New York, side by side as they'd been in life. He left pink flowers - Ana's favourite colours of peonies - on their grave, and thanked them for their friendship and support.

There had been two people he'd been somewhat surprised to find out were still alive and unbelievably in the same old people's home in DC. He'd been unsure whether visiting would be a good idea but after some gentle investigating from Daisy and Mack, he found himself entering a rec room. There was various elderly people around, reading newspapers or napping in high backed armchairs. But no-one looked familiar. Daisy squeezed his hand before getting the attention of one of the nurses, who led them around the corner of the room.

As they make their approach when Daniel hears a far too familiar voice, making him stop in his tracks.

"Ha! Got you again Thompson, pay up!" Rose Roberts, with now grey hair but with the same thick glasses, smirked triumphantly across the top of the checkers board.

The older man across the table groaned. "We go through this every damn day Rose. Can we go back to Chess?" Daniel took in the older man he'd known a life time ago, hair still slicked back in the way it had always been. A cane leant against the wall behind him and he coughed after laughing at Rose's comeback.

"Chief Thompson? Agent Roberts?" The nurse asked drawing their attention. "You have some visitors."

Both former agents looked across to see Daniel standing with an indecipherable look on his face.

"Fucking hell..."

"What the hell..." Their voices overlapped suddenly.

"Hey Rose, hey Jack." Daniel said stepping forward. Rose struggled to her feet, using the table to leverage herself up.

"Chief? Is that really you?" Rose looked up at him, his arms coming up to help balance her.

"It's me. It's good to see you Rose." And he found himself engulfed in her arms, wrapping his back around her and holding her tight. "God it's good to see you Rose."

"How the hell are you here?" She said as she looked back up to him. "And who's the beautiful woman you brought with you?" She fixed him with that same mischievous look she used to shoot at him all the time after glancing to Daisy who stood off to the side. Always so invested in his love life, so he chuckled.

"I can explain everything I promise. Why don't we sit?" He helped her back to her chair, glancing across to Jack who had his hand's in fists on the other side of the table. "Hi Thompson."

"Who are you?" He demanded. "You're sure as hell not Daniel Sousa. He died in...55." He paused remembering the exact year. "We buried him. We... mourned him. You sure as hell aren't him."

"I can explain that I am Jack."

"I am 102, not stupid." Rose scoffed, making both men turn to her.

"Jack do be serious. What about Rogers? He came back to Peg did he not?"

"How can we be sure? It may be some traitor. Davey was telling me just the other day about those shape shifting aliens Fury was palling around with..." Jack started saying.

"How about this Jack? I'll prove it to you." The older man looked puzzled but let him continue. "Before you went to Russia with Carter, met the Howling Commandoes when we were investigating Stark. You tricked me in the locker room, into seeing Carter changing. You asked me to get your compass from..."

"Locker 42." Jack finished his sentence and looked Daniel up and down, his gaze resting on the prosthetic leg.

"I've still only got one leg but the future makes a better prosthetic than Stark by a mile." Daniel joked, and Jack stood at that, pulling Daniel into a hug that he was not expecting. "It's good to see you too Jack."

They sat back down, chairs pulled up for Daniel and Daisy, as they told the story of faking his death, and pulling him out of time. Of their adventures into space and the weird and wacky things he'd discovered in the 21st Century.

They told him stories from their own lives after his death, cases he'd missed out on, Howard's ridiculousness. Peggy's rise to power. The three old friends spoke fondly of her, recalling stories from throughout the time they spent with her.

Rose grilled him and Daisy on their story and relationship, telling Daisy all the embarrassing things that Daniel had been happy to leave behind in the 50's. The unlikely pair giggled and formed a friendship.

Rose told her stories of her first and second marriage, her daughter, son-in-law and grandson who would visit every weekend.

Jack had been married when Daniel died, to Peggy's lovely personal secretary Ruth who knew how to put him in his place. They'd only had a daughter the year or two before Daniel supposedly died. Jack talked about how they'd gone on to have three more daughters, now had 8 grandchildren, including a grandson who had joined SHIELD recently (Daniel promised to keep an eye out for him). Then, his Ruth had passed a few years ago and Daniel expressed his condolences.

At that moment, a young boy, probably 5-years-old barrelled into the room and to Jack's side. "Pops, Pops!"

"Hey there, Danny. How's my favourite guy?" With surprising strength for a man of his years, Jack swung the young man up till he was sat on his knee.

"I'm good! Momma's coming now." He pointed to where a pretty blonde was making her way across the room, shaking her head as she stooped to kiss Jack on the cheek and ruffle her son's head.

"Sorry Grandpa, the traffic was horrendous." She greeted Rose much the same way, passing her a package. "Fudge from that place on 4th for your Rose, Danny over there insisted." She turned to the guests who sat between them. "Hello, I'm Ruthy." She shook their hands.

"Ruthy, this is Daniel and Daisy. Daniel, Daisy, my granddaughter Ruthy and her son, Danny." Jack smirked at Sousa as his great-grandson played with the watch on his wrist.

"Danny? Huh." Was the only thing Daniel came up with as he watched an old friend acting like a goofy grandparent.

"Yeah, Grandpa had a friend called Daniel who saved his life a bunch of times when he was younger. Used to tell us stories all about Sousa and Carter and their adventures. We never believed him until we found out where he worked." Ruthy filled in nonchalantly, sitting on the opposite side of the table, digging through her bag to produce a water bottle for her son unaware of the look on Daniel's face. Jack smirked massively. "Here, Grandpa. I managed to grab that album from storage that you wanted." She handed across a large leather bound photo album to the older man, who flipped through a few pages.

"Here you go Daisy, you'll like this one." Jack smirked, that old charming smile creeping onto his face as he passed the now open book across to her, Daniel peering over her shoulder and scoffing.

"Woah." Ruth finally looked up, glancing at the photo and then back up to Daniel and back again. "Well. I cannot believe it took me that long. I knew you looked familiar. I thought it was just Quake that had me thinking that."

Daisy smirked. "You don't seem surprised?"

"Oh I've worked at Stark Industries for a long time, I'm so used to superheroes and weird tech not much surprises me anymore. You see Tony Stark walking round in Iron-Man pants one too many times and you get over stuff pretty quickly." She levelled Daniel with a look. "Time travel huh?"

"Yes. But I haven't seen these in literal years." He said his hand tapped a few photos. One from the first day of opening the first SHIELD base, Thompson and Howard Stark stood either side of Peggy and Daniel. Another of Peggy, Daniel and Rose throwing confetti at Jack's wedding. One of Daniel and Thompson with Peggy on her Wedding Day. An outtake of that one where Howard was attempting to jumping into frame and Jarvis dragging him out, while the three of them laughed lay below it.

He could still picture that party, he could hear the band playing, memories of Peggy dancing with Rogers, happy and content. He remembered how happy he was for her.

Daisy squeezed his knee beneath the table and brought him back to the present. He pressed a kiss to her temple and continued the conversation. They had coffee and cake and Rose shared her fudge. Daisy made lunch trolley roll across the room, making Jack's great-grandson shriek in delighted laughs and push it back into a position where she could do it again and again.

They left hours later and Daniel felt more settled than he had done in a long time. Daisy squeezed his hand as they drove away.

They'd return to visit every time they were in town, which was more often these days now SHIELD HQ was there, sometimes together, sometimes alone. They met all of both of their families, attended Ruth's 100th birthday. Brought presents for Daniel's namesake's birthday.

When Daisy and Daniel tied the knot, two reserved seats on the front row of the groom's side were filled my two of his oldest friends some of their families just a couple rows back. They 'snuck' them into new SHIELD HQ to see all the new tech and planes, the memorial wall that included people they'd known a lifetime ago.

Daniel loved the future, loved living his life alongside Daisy and her family. But knowing his friends were there, getting to spend time with them was an unexpected but valuable thing for him. It gave him a link to the past, someone to shoot the breeze with, with some similar experiences from the past. A taste of a previous life he was grateful for as he lived his new one.